Flesh and Blood
by LoriEchelon
Summary: This is a prequel to the True Blood/Newsies crossover I'm writing, The Vampire and The Newsie. It tells the story of how Spot and Skittery came to be like they are in TVATN. Not slash. Warning : First chapter contains abuse.
1. Taking a Chance

**AN- Okay, so this is going to be a prologue to my crossover story of True Blood and Newsies, The Vampire and The Newsie. (It can be found in the crossover section, obviously) In TVATN I refer to Spot and Skittery's past a lot, but I don't really have enough time to really get into what, in my mind, happened that made them the way they are and made them so close. So I decided it needed its own story. This will start with them being young, and show how they got out of their parents grasps and came to be Brooklyn newsies and will go up until shortly after Skittery leaves Brooklyn and Spot behind to go to Manhattan. I will warn you that the first chapter will deal with child abuse, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you may not want to read them. If it seems at all rushed, or vague, I apologize, but I found it an extremely difficult topic to write about. I do NOT condone child abuse in any way, shape, or form, I myself am a mother and cannot see how anyone can do that, but I know it happens, and t is a crucial part of their past in my story, so unfortunately I had to suck it up and write it. In TVATN they are supposed to be 19 and 16, so in this story they start out at 10 and 7, and it will go until they're about 18 and 15 or so. Anyways, please enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing, still, aside from Skittery who I kidnapped years ago, and Spot who I kidnapped and sent through FedEx to DramaLo. Other than that, all official Newsies characters mentioned belong to Disney, and no monetary gain was made off this. Loss, yes, gain, no. Any Brooklyn newsie mentioned other than Spot belongs to me, though. Credit for the names of Pretty Boy, Crane, and Laces, Bull, and Spades belongs to Thrufirewithoutaburn. Credit for the name Bug belongs to DramaLo.**

**Oh yes, and this is completely dedicated to DramaLo who can apparently read my mind and figure out the plotline before I write it.**

_**1891 **_

Ten year old Skittery grabbed the hand of his younger cousin who was attempting to leave the house. He had a sack slung over his shoulder filled with his few belongings, and he huffed at his older cousin in annoyance.

"We can't leave, Spot! Where we gonna go?" Skittery tugged the younger boy back through the doorway, exasperated.

"I don't know yet, but anywhere is better dan dis!" Spot retorted, angered at being stopped by Skittery.

Skittery let his shoulders sag, as did Spot, as they both drank in the truths of the other's statements. Spot knew they had nowhere better go, just as Skittery knew anywhere was better than where they were.

Spot set his bag on the floor, and plopped down next to it, as Skittery snuck a peek out the window, earnestly pulling Spot back to the corner of the living room when he saw their parents stumbling towards the front door. "C'mon, Spot." He threw his cousins bag behind the couch, hoping none of the adults would be sober enough to notice it.

Skittery was extremely protective of the younger boy. Every time one of their parents raised a hand at Spot, Skittery would insert himself between them, usually ending up on the floor with a black eye or a bloodied lip as his consequence.

Neither of the young boys could remember a time in their lives when their parents had been nice. They weren't wanted, and they knew it. Skittery and Spot's mom were sisters, and they all lived together in the tiny cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Their dad's were criminals who spent their time out robbing and murdering, and their mothers were whores, who spent their time selling themselves to make enough money for more drugs and alcohol.

Every night when they went to sleep, Skittery would lay awake on the ground next to Spot, keeping watch, because there was never any telling who would be in their house. After one fateful night when Skittery had awoken to some random man kicking Spot in the ribs for lying in his way while their parents just laughed in the background, Skittery had refused to sleep until his parents were home and asleep.

They were treated around the house as nothing more than slaves, forced to do all the cleaning and cooking, and for the past three years they had also had to go out and sell each edition of the newspaper, bringing home any money they made to their parents. Skittery would sometimes lie about the money they made, though, and he had a stash hidden away that no one had found yet, saving up every penny he could scrape together with the hope of getting enough together that he and Spot could leave.

Skittery crossed his fingers, and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that their parents weren't as drunk as they had looked, since the drunker they got, the more abusive and mean they got as well. Both young boys sat still as statues in the corner, hoping to go unnoticed as the doorknob turned and their parents tripped into the house.

Skittery put an arm around the younger boy, pulling him closer, pretending to be invisible. He breathed a sigh of relief when they went unnoticed. He tried to ignore the growling in the pit of his stomach, since he had no idea when the next time they'd eat would be. The food in the house was kept in a locked cabinet, and they were lucky to be allowed a piece of bread a day. Usually when they were out selling, Skittery or Spot would steal food off a cart when the vendor was distracted.

Spot huddled next to his cousin, only seven years old but already he'd seen things in his life that most adults shouldn't have to witness. He'd sat next to Skittery many times, hiding his face in the older boy's shoulder while their dad's would torture and kill people, and their mom's would sleep with the highest bidder.

Spot risked a peek at the adults splayed on the mismatched furniture in the room. His mom and dad were leaned over pipe, her dirty blonde hair mixing with the light brown of his dad's. His mother could have been beautiful if she took care of herself. Spot had his mom's hair color and slight frame, but his features were identical to that of his dad's. Skittery on the other hand, was the spitting image of his dad, except for his eyes which were exactly like his mom's and aunt's.

At one point, the two boys had had real names, but Skittery's dad, without a doubt the crueler of the two, dubbed them Spot and Skittery years before. He claimed Skittery was always on edge, ignoring the fact that it was his own fault, and he claimed Spot was a sore spot in his parent's marriage, since he hadn't actually been wanted in the first place.

Spot cringed as he watched his dad rise from the couch, noticing the boys in the corner, and stalking towards them.

"Should't da two a ya worthless shits be cleanin' or out earnin' money?" He thundered as he drew close to them.

Skittery jumped up, standing in front of the younger boy, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Da place is clean! An' da evenin' edition don't come out for anudder hour!" He tried to hide his fear behind tough words, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

Spot's dad let out loud guffaw, as he turned behind him. "Hey Jimmy, ya hear dat? Ya boy t'inks dat he's a big tough guy!"

Jimmy snickered, "Well jus' show 'im who's boss, Frank!"

Frank took that as his cue, and backhanded Skittery, sending him stumbling backwards and crashing into the mirror behind him. He could feel the glass biting into his flesh, and the sting on his face that would be a bruise come morning, but he refused to give Frank the satisfaction of shedding a single tear.

Spot jumped up, ready to defend his cousin, only to join him on the floor a few seconds later when his dad smacked him, then aimed a kick directly at the young boys stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and leaving Spot with a cracked rib or two.

Skittery made the mistake of getting back up, instead of just laying there until Frank got bored, and Jimmy joined Frank as they both pounded him until he could barely see straight.

"Well, whaddya waitn' for? Go sell some papes, an' earn us some money," Jimmy spat at his son, as he left the room. Frank flicked a couple of quarters at the boys to buy their papers with, and joined Jimmy in the kitchen, as their moms stepped over them, ignoring them completely, leaving the two young, beaten boys alone in the living room once again.

Skittery, making a valiant effort to sit up and help Spot up as well, whispered urgently to his cousin. "Go get ya bag, an' put me stuff in it too. I's meet ya outside. Don't let dem see ya got a sack widdya, though."

Sluggishly and painfully, Skittery snuck his way into the one bedroom in the apartment, practically crawling. He lifted up the mattress, feeling for the small tear, and worked out the small bag with drawstrings, shoving it deep in his pockets. He managed to get back to the living room, and out of the house before anyone noticed him, and he limped over to his cousin, grasping his hand and pulling him along, as both boys ignored the pain that walking brought them.

When they were a few blocks from their apartment, but still a ways away from the distribution center, Skittery turned Spot onto a bench, pulling the bag from his pocket. He wasn't very good at counting, but he did his best, and by his calculations, including the fifty cents they had to buy papers with, they had eighty three cents all together.

Spot was quiet, waiting on his cousin to finish counting.

"We ain't goin' back dere," Skittery declared after a moment's contemplation. "Never."

Spot gave a small grin towards Skittery, before it faded away and he asked, "Well what we's gonna do?"

"I dunno. But we's figure out. Let's go buy some papes an' try ta sell 'em. People'll wanna buy from us taday, we's look pathetic," He tried to keep his voice upbeat so the younger one wouldn't sense his distress. They both slowly stood from the bench and headed toward the distribution center.

They got in the back of the line when they arrived, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to notice the hushed whispers of the other boys. When they got to the front of the line, Skittery took a gamble, placing both quarters on the counter. "Hundred, please," He squeaked, hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake.

He took the papers the man handed him, handing a smaller stack to Spot, as they trudged down the steps, looking left to right, trying to decide where to sell. Skittery started to steer Spot one direction, when a tall older boy blocked his path. Skittery let his eyes travel upwards, and let out a sigh of relief.

"Hi Chance," Skittery greeted the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, who was known for taking risks. He towered over the younger boys, his grey cap sitting far back on his head, allowing his ink black hair to spill into his eyes, his blue eye shining with concern for the younger kids.

Chance was a fearless leader, but had a soft spot for the two young boys who would show up consistently each day for every edition of the paper. He didn't know their story, but thinking about what must have gone on wherever they came from did nothing short of make his blood boil. He couldn't count the number of times he'd seen the two show up beaten, bruised, and bloodied. But without fail, they'd be there; getting their papes, sticking to each other's side like glue, and keeping to themselves. He'd never seen them look so bad before though, and he squatted down until he was eye level with the two frightened boys.

"You's two okay?" He asked, knowing they wouldn't admit it even if they weren't.

Skittery gave a determined nod of his head, shifting the heavy stack of papers, trying not to grimace at the pain it brought.

Chance studied them silently, before reaching out and taking both stacks. "C'mon. You's two can sell widdme taday, we's split evenly, all right?"

"T'anks," chorused the younger boys as they trailed behind Chance.

"Don't t'ank me, I's get me papes sold quicker wid da two a ya bein' widdme," He smiled down at them, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, as they all called out the headline.

Chance was proved correct a couple hours later when they had rid themselves of all two hundred papes in record time. He turned back to the two boys, stalling, not wanting to let them go back to whomever had put them in that condition, so he tried to hide his smile when Skittery finally spoke up.

"Dat lodgin' house you's newsies stay at, can anyone who can pay stay dere if dey sell papes?"

"Sure can kid," Chance said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. "An' it jus' so happens we have quite a few empty beds right now, and Lawrence, da guy who runs da place, he don't like havin' empty bunks." He counted out the change, handing half over to Skittery, who pulled out the crumpled drawstring bag, dropping his and Spot's share in.

"How much?"

"Six cents a night, and anudder nickel if ya eat dinner dere. Best deal around for street rats like us, kid."

Skittery scrunched his face up in concentration before he gave a firm nod of his head. "Can ya take us dere?"

"I'd be happy ta," Chance replied with a grin. "An' Lawrence is pretty good when it comes ta scrapes an' bruises, so he'll take a look at da two a ya, free a charge." He couldn't help but add, as he cast a glance at the two boys who were trying so hard to hide their pain.

Neither boy responded to that, and Skittery looked away embarrassed, as Spot tugged on his sleeve. "So's we don't gotta go back ta our parents? Ever?"

Skittery shook his head, reassuring the younger boy. "Nope. Dey won't be beatin' up on us no more, promise."


	2. Kill Da Bastards

"Down 'ere, Spot!" Skittery grabbed his arm, yanking him behind a building. The two young newsboys peeked around the corner, waiting until their fathers walked by before venturing back onto the streets. They'd left two months ago, and had settled nicely into the routine of being newsies, but every couple weeks they'd see one of their parents down the street and have to hide.

A few weeks ago their mothers had shown up at the lodging house, giving Lawrence a sob story, but luckily for them Lawrence had remembered their condition when they came in and lied through his teeth to protect the two young cousins.

"Dis is getting' ridiculous," Spot muttered, kicking at the cobblestones.

"Well if ya like we's can go chase after 'em and go back ta dat hell hole," Skittery shot back, already on edge.

Spot glared at him and made a snide comment under his breath, which Skittery chose to ignore.

The pair trudged back towards the lodging house, keeping their eyes peeled for their parents like they learned to do over the past couple of months. Skittery opened the door and walked up to the desk where Lawrence was asleep with his boots propped up. He had his bowler cap pulled down over his eyes, even though some of his blonde hair was escaping out of it, and he had his muscular arms crossed over his chest. He resembled a gang member more than he did a keeper of a newsboys lodging house, but underneath his rough exterior he had a huge heart and cared about most of the boys like they were his own.

Skittery cleared his throat, and Lawrence opened one eye into a slit, smirking when he saw the young boy shifting nervously in front of him. "Hey little man," He slid the book across the counter, as Skittery dropped twelve cents into his palm.

He watched s the young boy's brow furrowed in concentration, trying to remember how to write their names. Lawrence had been working with them, teaching them how to read and write, along with the few other young newsies. "Two tees," He gently reminded the young boy, who cheeks flushed, as he squeezed another 't' into his name.

He slid the book back, mumbling a thank you, and Lawrence watched the two clomp up the stairs. They had yet to take the time to get to know any of the others, but Lawrence knew it wasn't because they were unfriendly. No one had really gotten the story out of them about where they'd come from, and what had gone on, but it seemed they'd been through it together, and Lawrence thought it was kind of cute the way Skittery seemed so protective over Spot. They both seemed unwilling to let anyone else into their lives, though, and kept to themselves. It was rare to see them not side by side, and even rarer to get either of them to talk any more than necessary, even though they whispered to each other constantly.

A slam of change on the counter, and a grunt for the book broke Lawrence out of his thoughts, as he glanced across the counter to see Bull. Bull was always telling stories and was basically full of it, but he meant no harm, for the most part. He wasn't the nicest of guys, but he wasn't out and out mean, and he didn't cause any issues around the lodging house, so Lawrence put up with Bull's bull as best he could.

Chance joined them at the counter, his signature grin decorating his face as he threw an arm around Bull's thick shoulders. "So how'd ya make out taday, Bull?"

"Ain't much of a headline," Bull grumbled in response, shoving the book to Chance, and ambling towards the kitchen.

Chance's smile didn't waver, and he made eye contact with Lawrence. "Dat boy don't know how good he got's it." He commented, spinning a penny on the counter, before flicking it towards Lawrence. Lawrence rolled his eyes at Chance's antics, catching the penny before it fell to the floor, and holding his hand out for the other five cents.

"You's ever not in a good mood?" He laughed, taking the nickel Chance tossed.

"Now what's da point in wastin' time on a bad mood?" Chance had been at the lodging house before Lawrence had taken over when his uncle died. The two got along pretty well, seeing as Lawrence was only seven years older than Chance's sixteen. "Skittery an' Spot get back okay?" He asked Lawrence.

"Yup, about five seconds before you an' Bull came chargin' in. Dey's upstairs."

Chance nodded thoughtfully, before slapping the counter. "Well I'mma grab me a beer an' go see bout losin' all me money ta Spades." He sauntered towards the common room, settling himself at the crowded table, about to join in the game when he heard a knock at the door.

"Who da hell knocks round dese parts?" He questioned out loud, but went to open the door anyway.

Two men stood on the other side, evil glares covering their faces. "We's lookin' for our sons." The darker haired one stated, attempting to push pass Chance.

Chance, however, not one to let himself be pushed around in his own domain, blocked the door, refusing to let them enter. He may not have had a lot of weight on him, but he was deceptively strong, and well over six feet tall.

"Well what are dere names, if ya don't mind me askin'?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting on a response.

"Henry and Robert," The man sneered.

"Well I's sorry ta disappoint you gentleman, but I can't recall a Henry or a Robert stayin' 'ere," He gave a fake apologetic smile, and started to close the door.

The man who seemed to be in charge shoved his foot in before the door slammed, though. "Well maybe you's got a Skittery or a Spot."

"Nah, dat don't sound familiar either. Hey Lawrence, we's got a Skittery or a Spot signed in ta da book?" He yelled over his shoulder.

Lawrence made a big show of looking through his book, before closing it, and looking up. "Nope, sorry, you's outta luck 'ere."

"Mind if I see dat book ya got?" The man tried again to shove past Chance, and was again shoved right back.

"Ya know what, we's answered ya questions, an' dat book ain't public information. I'mma hafta ask ya gentleman to mosey along now," Chance shut the door locking it, but not before the man yelled about what a mistake he was making.

Chance squared his shoulder, marching up the steps, where he saw Spot and Skittery cowering at the top. "C'mon, you's two. Me room," he went to reach down and help Spot stand but Spot jerked away like he was going to hit him. "Hey dere, kid. I ain't gonna hurtcha. C"mon."

The two trailed after him, hesitantly sitting on the bed he motioned at.

Chance leaned against the wall across from them, tossing his cap onto the dresser, and running a hand through his hair. "Either a ya wanna explain what's goin' on? I don't mind lyin' for ya, but I t'ink I have a right ta know what's goin' on, don't I?"

Skittery looked down at his boots, shrugging his shoulders, and Spot scooted behind him, hiding, unconvinced they weren't in trouble.

Chance took a step towards them, faltering when he noticed the terrified look in their eyes. He inched his way forward, crouching in front of them. "I ain't gonna hurt you's, ya know dat. I jus' wanna know how worried I should be. Were dose men ya fadders?"

Skittery nodded, sneaking a glance up at the older boy, trying to determine if he was trustworthy. "Sorry."

"Whaddya sorry for, kid? Ya didn't do noin' wrong," Chance reassured him. He threw an uneasy glance towards the door, deep in thought, before making up his mind. He didn't trust the men not to try to break in during the middle of the night. "Listen, I'mma let da two a you's sleep in me bed tonight, and I'm gonna make up a bed on da floor for meself, an we's gonna have us a sleepover, all right? Dat sound fun?"

Spot nodded eagerly behind Skittery, and Skittery just shrugged again. "Yeah, okay, I guess."

Chance pasted a fake smile on his face in place of his normal cheery grin, telling the boys to go get ready for bed, as he headed back downstairs.

"Bull, Spades, Razz, Sweets, office. Now." Chance barked out a command, causing the three newsies to abandon their card game and join him and Lawrence at the desk. "I don't want anyone new in dis house for da next couple weeks. Dat includes girls," Chance shot a pointed look at Sweets, "Newsies from other boroughs, an' new kids. An' I don't want da two a dem sellin' alone neither." He gave the small group a hard stare, waiting to make sure they understood his point.

Lawrence nodded in agreement. "Chance is right, I didn't like da looks a dose boy's fadders."

"Dey's bunkin' wid me 'til further notice, also, so tomorrow, Bull, I want ya ta help me drag a bunk in me room."

Bull nodded, and Spades, Sweets, and Razz nodded also, indicating they understood his earlier instructions. Chance surveyed the group one last time, before turning and muttering something about going to bed, as he drug himself back up the steps. Lawrence retreated into his bedroom, telling the boys to wrap it up and go to bed, shutting his door with a click.

The four left behind exchanged a look. They'd never seen Chance so tense, so they knew to take him seriously. Spades walked back to the table, packing away his cards, and for once Razz had no desire to tease anyone.

Chance walked in his room, surprised to see just Spot sitting on the bed. He couldn't recall seeing one of them without the other ever before. "Whatcha doin', Spot?" He asked, joining him on the bed.

"Noin'. You's ain't gonna make us go back home, is ya?" He asked, looking up at Chance with his big, steel blue eyes.

"Nah, kid. Dis is you's home now," He reached over ruffling Spot's hair, who ducked away and swatted at his hand, not pleased with being treated like a little kid. "C'mon," Chance pulled back the covers, motioning to Spot, who glared at him, but got underneath them just the same.

Skittery stood at the doorway, watching Chance and Spot, still unconvinced that Chance or any of the other newsboys they'd met were trustworthy. They'd seemed nice enough, but Skittery had seen his parents act like saints before when it suited them. He had learned long ago, though, that worrying didn't fix anything, so he walked the rest of the way in, climbing into bed, and turning over to go to sleep without so much as a word to Chance.

He laid in bed awake for awhile, until he heard the unmistakable sounds of his sleeping roommates, then he crept out of bed, and down the hallway, towards the stairs. He skipped over the third and ninth steps which creaked loudly, and glanced around before he opened the door, stealing out into the night. He fingered the knife in his pocket, resting heavily against his thigh, as he cast wary glances at the shadows, his mind running amok with thoughts of what might be hiding in them.

He quickened his pace, but still headed towards his destination. A few monsters hiding in the shadows weren't going to stop him on his mission. He walked down the familiar streets, taking the short cuts through the alleyways, anxious to get there and get back. He stopped in front of his parents' apartment; gazing up the staircase, suddenly second guessing himself. He found the window, four up and three to the left, that went into their living room, and noted with satisfaction that there was no soft glow of light escaping, signaling they were all passed out inside.

Gathering up his courage, he took a deep breath, and placed a hand on the rail to begin the hike, when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Skittery whirled around, knife in his small hand, ready to stab first and ask questions later. The tall figure in front of him had other ideas, though, and plucked the knife from his hand expertly, and then grabbed Skittery, shoving a hand over his mouth to muffle his scream. Skittery bit down as hard as he could.

"Christ! Dat hurt!"

"Chance?" Skittery breathed a sigh of relief, staring up to see the older boy who was holding his hand and glaring at him.

"Yeah. What da hell are you's doin' out 'ere at dis time a night? Do you's 'ave any idea how unsafe dis is?" Chance lectured Skittery.

Skittery glared back and reached out grabbing his knife from Chance. "I hafta take care a soin' 'ere, den I's come right back ta da lodgin' house, 'kay?"

Chance shook his head, gripping his upper arm and dragging him away. "No, not okay, kid. You's can't go in dere and do what I t'ink you's plan on doin'. Let's go."

Skittery yanked himself free from Chance's grasp and walked purposefully back towards the stairs. Chance couldn't help admiring the young boy's perseverance, but he didn't want him to do anything he might regret, or worse yet get himself killed. So he picked up and slung him over his shoulder, ignoring the pounding of small, clenched fists on his back, which continued the whole way back to the lodging house. Chance opened the door, locking it behind him, and deposited Skittery on the couch in the common room.

"Am I's gonna hafta lock you's in da bedroom at nights, kid?" Chance was trying very hard not to raise his voice and yell at Skittery, out of fear of not only waking the whole lodging house, but scaring the young boy.

That didn't seem to be a legitimate fear though, because Skittery stood up, pointing an accusing finger at Chance. "Dis ain't none a ya business! You's ain't me fadder!"

"Yeah, well, seein' as I's met your fadder, I's gonna take dat as a compliment. Go ta bed," Chance commanded, walking in the kitchen for a beer.

Skittery ignored him completely, and sulked on the couch instead. Chance glanced out at him from the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, wondering how to handle the situation. He knew he hadn't earned either of the kids trust enough for them to listen to him, but how was he suppose to protect them if the second he went to sleep they tried to sneak out?

Chance watched the ceiling fan slowly rotate around and around, as it knocked back and forth looking ready to fall at any moment. Everything in the lodging house was falling apart. Just last week one of the guys top bunk had broken and fallen onto the kid sleeping below him. No one had been hurt, but Chance could only imagine that fan crashing onto one of the younger kids. He reached up, yanking the chain so it slowed to a stop and stopped making him nervous.

Draining the beer in his hand, he threw the bottle out and went back in to sit next to Skittery.

"So what was da plan, dere?" He asked, even though he knew full well what the plan had been.

Skittery looked over at him, the haunted look in his eyes belonging on someone much older, and his tone of voice bitter and blunt. "Kill da bastards."

Chance opened his mouth to respond, but heard the frightened voice of Spot calling for Skittery in a panic drifting down the steps. Skittery shot off the couch, taking the steps two at a time, with Chance close at his heels, fearing the worst.

Spot was sitting up in bed, sweat soaked sheets pulled up to his chin, unshed tears shining in his eyes, and his chin quivering.

"What? What's wrong?" Chance demanded, seeing nothing out of ordinary, but still tense, ready to attack if needed.

Skittery threw an impatient look over his shoulder at Chance, as he sat next to Spot, putting an arm around him. "He has nightmares."

Chance relaxed his stance, and left to get a glass of water since Spot had gone from about to cry to looking pissed at Chance for catching him like that.

Skittery murmured a reassurance to Spot, attempting to settle him back into bed. Chance silently handed Spot the water which he chugged, then crawled back under the covers, falling back to sleep instantly. Skittery laid down next to him, and shot yet another look at Chance, who was leaning against the door frame, instead of laying down. "What?" He growled at the leader.

"I'mma wait right 'ere, 'til you's fall asleep," Chance explained in a smooth voice, raising an eyebrow, daring Skittery to fight him on it.

Skittery huffed and turned his back towards him, grumbling until he, too, was fast asleep.

Chance took his sheet off the floor, laying it over top of the two sleeping boys, and then laid on the floor, wide awake and worrying all night long, listening for the tiniest of sounds and ready to spring.

**AN Okay first off, sorry for the ridiculous amount of time between updating this, but I am writing 4 different stories, and I work full time, and have a kid, and am having some stuff going on in my family. But I hope the next update will be sooner. **

**Also, I thought you might all like to know why I chose Henry for Skittery's real name. When I first saw this movie, way back at the tender age of nine, sitting in the movie theater, I remember getting an insta-crush, on the guy who woke up saying "I didn't do it!' that Kloppman referred to as Henry. Tooke me a couple years actually to realize it was Skittery, not Henry. (Remember kiddos, the internet wasn't that big back in the early 90's!) As for Spot's real name being Robert…I can't explain it, so I won't try to. First name that popped in my head. **

**Okay, so feel free to review, and to check out the story that this is the prologue to, The Vampire and The Newsie. **


	3. THe Master Plan

It was obvious that neither Spot nor Skittery was pleased about being babysat as the pair stomped behind Chance, selling their papers the next day. Chance ignored their bad moods, and tried unsuccessfully to joke with them. By then end of the day, he was frustrated with them, and trying hard not to show it.

"So, you's two wanna grab a bite ta eat at da diner?" He asked. They both shrugged, and Chance could see Skittery's eyes moving rapidly back and forth, watching for an opportunity. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, steering them in the right direction, hoping the boys got the point that he wasn't letting them out of his sight.

He opened the door, ushering them in, and was relieved to see almost every Brooklyn newsie sprawled around the dinner. Some sat at the booths, with the torn black vinyl and cracked tables, other sat at the bar, perched on the uneven barstools, and the rest sat in the chairs, backwards with their arms slung over the back, or tipping the chairs back precariously, or using one to sit on and one to prop their feet on. Everyone had remnants of their dinner on plates in front of them, and the older boys had mugs of beer, while the younger ones had mainly milk or water. The faded off white paint on the walls was chipping, the tiled floor squeaked loudly under their boots, and the waiters and bartenders didn't know how to smile. But this was the newsies hang out, and you rarely found someone who wasn't a newsie or a child worker there.

Spot and Skittery sat at a table in the corner, slouched in their seats, and Chance made his way around the room, stopping to chat with everyone, and still keeping one eye on the boys. He eventually lowered himself into a seat joining Razz, Sweets, and Spades and was quickly caught up in an animated conversation about the day with the others. He forgot to pay attention to the young boys, and no one else was either.

Skittery saw their opening, and grabbed Spot's sleeve, and the two made their way out of the diner and back onto the streets without being noticed. Skittery broke into a run the second his feet touched the cobblestone, and Spot was right behind him, more than willing to play a part in the master plan.

"Dere's no way dey's gonna be asleep yet. We's gotta wait for awhile," Skittery panted when they finally stopped running, cutting into a back alley to wait it out. He sank down against the wall, and Spot followed suit, as they waited for the city around them to go to sleep.

* * *

Chance glanced over to check on the boys and swore out loud. "Where da hell did dey go?"

Razz and Spades shrugged. Sweets said something unhelpful around his bite of sandwich.

"Dammit, c'mon you's guys," Chance stood up, scraping the chair back, not giving the others much of a choice but to abandon dinner and follow. "Bull! You's too!"

Bull groused, but got up just the same, meeting the others on the sidewalk.

"Okay, spread out and comb da city. Meet back at da lodgin' house in an hour," Chance ordered, turning and heading towards where he'd followed Skittery the night before. _Sneaky little brat, can't take me eyes off 'em for one damn second. _Chance griped to himself as his eyes adjusted to the dim twilight, and he peered around for them. They weren't at the apartment from the night before, they weren't at the docks, and they weren't in any of the restaurants Chance checked. Discouraged, he walked back to the lodging house, slamming his change on the table and scribbling his name in the book so hard he tore the paper.

"I take it ya didn't find 'em?" Lawrence asked, unnecessarily.

Chance shook his head, "No one else did neither den?"

"Nah, sorry."

Disgruntled, Chance sat down in the common room, then stood back up and started pacing the room.

"Dat ain't gonna help any, Chance," Sweets informed him, chewing on the cigar dangling from his lips. "Why don't you's an' I go back out?" He offered.

Chance gave a curt nod, and immediately headed for the door. Not bothering to see if Sweets was following him or not.

* * *

Spot shook his older cousin awake urgently. "Skittery. Skittery! It's late enough. C'mon!"

Skittery blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning as he batted Spot away trying to form a coherent sentence. Mumbling, he finally stood up when Spot tugged at him, and he stumbled along behind the younger boy, shaking himself awake. They darted in and out of side streets; eyes wide for Chance, and came to a stop at their old apartment. Both boys leaned over, hands on knees, out of breath.

Silently, Skittery pointed toward the dark windows, and he reached a hand in his pocket, feeling for the comfort of the steel blade. He nudged Spot, raising his eyebrows in question. Spot nodded, gesturing towards his own pocket, and the two crept their way up the steps and into the apartment.

Nervously, Spot followed Skittery into the bedroom, where the sleeping figures of their parents lie. Spot headed over to his parents bed, and Skittery went to his. Sot was starting to have doubts about the solidity of Skittery's plan. They locked eyes across the room, and Skittery gave the younger boy a nod of encouragement, as he raised his knife, and brought it plunging down into his father's throat. Over and over again, he brought it down. His brain barely registered the screams from his mom and his aunt, the more he stabbed, the more the rage inside him built up.

He didn't notice Spot who'd backed into a corner of the room, eyes wide with terror. He did notice his uncle coming towards him though, and he quickly turned, shoving the blade that dripped with his own father's blood straight into the side of Spot's father. Images of the beatings he received at the hands of them accompanied a soundtrack of the hateful words that repeated in his head, as he rhythmically stabbed the life out of his uncle. With each outwards yank of the knife, blood spewed from the blade, painting the Skittery and the wall behind him.

The world around him started to spin, and he looked down at his hands, convinced they didn't belong to him. They were covered in blood, and the knife fell from them, clattering to the ground. The whirring in his head drowned out the women's screams, and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He tried to focus his eyes, as the world around him took on a hazy red tint, and the last thing he saw was Sweets crouched down next Spot, and Chance coming towards him as his world faded frome red to black.

* * *

Chance and Sweets were only a block away from where he'd found Skittery the night before when a scream pierced through the silent night. The older boys exchanged an uneasy look, and Chance took off at a sprint, with Sweets quick at his heels. His fears were confirmed as he raced up the steps, and there was no doubt where the screams were coming from.

He shoved his way in the tiny apartment, following the sound to a bedroom located in the back. He stopped suddenly, horror at the sight before him washing over him. Sweets slammed into the back of him, snapping him out of it.

He motioned towards Spot in the corner, and Sweets followed the silent command, as Chance inched his way toward Skittery. The young boy had stopped, and now had a blank look covering his blood stained face. Skittery's gaze slowly rose, and brown eyes met blue, and Chance's heart broke as the look decorating the boys face changed from blank to utter confusion. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and Chance rushed forward to grab him. Before he could get there, he felt a blow to his back that knocked him on his knees. The wind rushed out of him, causing him to go lightheaded for a moment, before he gathered his senses, and was back on his feet, spinning around to confront the short lady standing behind him with a piece of wood.

He stalked forward, cornering her against the wall, and leaned down so his face was a centimeter from hers. "Hit me again, and you's gonna be joinin' you's husband, got it?" He told her through clenched teeth. She nodded meekly, and Chance threw a glare to the taller woman on the other hide of the room. "Dat means you's too!" Turning back around, he ripped the board out of the other woman's hand, and threw it with all his force against the wall across from him to prove his point.

Chance leveled her with one last look, before he turned back to his original concern, and bent over scooping up the small boy who lay unconscious on the ground. He picked up the knife from where it had fallen and with a grimace, wiped the blood off on the bed sheet, before pocketing it. He nodded at Sweets to get Spot, and turned back to the women cowered in the corner of the room. "We's weren't 'ere, an' neither was dey. If I find out you's said odderwise, me an' him'll be back, along wid some of our friends," He threatened. "Dat's a promise."

Chance cradled Skittery against his chest, as Sweets picked up Spot, who was too horrified to fight him, and they left the house, leaving the dead fathers, and the terrified mothers behind.

When they got back to the lodging house, Chance kicked at the door until it swung open, to reveal Spades. "Calm you' self, I's comin-shit! What happened?" Spades mouth fell open, and his cigar fell to the floor, as he scrambled to pick it up and grind out the fiery ash left on the carpet.

Chance ignored him shoving past him and yelling out for Lawrence as he and Sweets took the boys up to his room. He gently laid Skittery on the bed, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and without turning around told Sweets to wet a rag and bring it in. Sweets set Spot on the bed, but he immediately jumped off, going back to the corner of the room, and hugging his knees to his chest.

Lawrence burst in the room, shooting a worried look at Spot huddled in the corner, before joining Chance and Skittery at the bed. "What happened? Do I's wanna know?"

"He did it. He actually fuckin' did it," Chance muttered, still reeling a little bit.

"Did what?" Lawrence pressed, on as he examined the boy closer. "Chance, you's wanna explain ta me why he's covered in blood, an' yet I's can't find a scratch on 'im?" Lawrence wasn't positive he really wanted that question answered, since he thought he knew the answer and it was not one he wanted to hear.

Chance glanced up at Lawrence, and shifted his eyes behind him, holding a hand out into which Sweets dropped the wet rag. He ignored Lawrence's question again, and began wiping at Skittery's face. The previously white rag took on a pinkish hue, as he mopped the blood off Skittery's face, causing the young boy to stir, and blink his eyes open.

Skittery blinked against the bright light, as his vision slowly came into focus and he saw the faces of Chance, Lawrence, and Sweets hovering above. Discombobulated, he tried to figure out where he was and what had happened. The events came rushing back to him, and he sat up in a panic.

"Where's Spot?" He demanded, struggling to get out of bed, as Chance and Lawrence pushed him back down.

"He's right dere, see?" Sweets pointed, in a vain attempt to placate him.

Skittery fought against Lawrence and Chance, growing frustrated when they wouldn't let him up to check on Spot. "Get offa me!" He hollered at them, trying to pry their hands from him uselessly.

"Hey! Calm down!" Chance thundered, raising his voice at the young boy for the first time. It didn't have the desired effect. Instead of heeding his warning, Skittery started clawing manically, kicking, screaming, and biting trying to break free of their grasp.

"Let me go! Get offa me!"

In the end it took all three of them to hold him down, until he finally exhausted himself, laying back on the bed, and curling into his self, ignoring them.

"Sweets, why don't you's go get some a dat whiskey I know you's boys 'ave hidden in da cupboard, Chance, see about getting 'im bathed and in clean clothes," Lawrence took over the situation, going over to check on Spot while the other two followed his directions without hesitation.

Chance scooped Skittery back up, who hung limply in his arms, the fight drained from him, as he let Chance cart him off to the washroom.

Lawrence sat on his haunches in front of Spot. "You's okay dere, little man?"

Spot got the all too familiar defiant look on his face, and he nodded resolutely. "'I's jus' fine," He muttered, refusing even at such a young age to show weakness in front of others.

"All right, sorry. Wasn't tryin' ta offend no one. Wanna help me change dese sheets, so you's two can go ta sleep? It's getting' late," Lawrence tried to distract Spot, who reluctantly stood up to help. They pulled the sheets with streaks of blood off, and replaced them with clean ones, finishing just as Chance came back in.

He laid Skittery on the bed once again, and Spot climbed in next to him. Chance and Lawrence pretended not to notice the way Spot sat as far away from Skittery as possible, as Sweets handed over the bottle of whiskey he'd scoured from the kitchen, along with a water stained glass.

Lawrence poured a small amount in the glass, and handed it to Skittery. "Drink," He told him.

With shaking hands Skittery took the glass, sipping at it experimentally, and gagging on the first sip. But much like his younger cousin he refused to look weak, and after a brief coughing fit he swallowed the whole glass, silently handing it back, and trying his best to wipe the sickened look off his face.

"Now sleep," Lawrence ordered, motioning for Chance and Sweets to follow him. Chance turned off the gas lamp on the bedside table, and shut the door quietly behind him. He pilfered the bottle out of Lawrence's hands as they trooped down the stairs, taking his own long swallow, and passing it to Sweets who copied.

"So what was da point of makin' a ten year old drink?" Chance couldn't help but ask, as he took the bottle back from Sweets.

Lawrence smirked at him, shaking his head. "It'll help 'im sleep, an' calm his nerves," He explained. "Now I want some answers. Tell me dat boy didn't do what I t'ink he did," Lawrence came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes drilling into Chances'.

Sweets snuck off into the common room, leaving Chance to deal with it on his own.

"I tried ta find 'im before he did anythin', I swear. An' I only took me eyes off 'im for a second!" Chance defended himself, not used to being on this side of things.

Lawrence held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I ain't blamin' you's, all right? I jus' wanna know how much trouble dat boy is in."

"I don't t'ink any," Chance quickly recounted the night for him, shifting nervously when Lawrence was quiet for a long time.

"I guess dere ain't noin' ta do but cross our fingers an' hope for da best," Lawrence sighed, yanking off his bowler cap and scratching at his head. "All right, get everyone ta go ta bed. An' keep a close eye on dat kid for a coupla weeks, dis could turn ugly."

"How so? Like problems wid da bulls," Chance trailed off, as he lit up a cigarette, and took another long drink.

"Well, yeah dere's dat. But I was t'inkin' more along da lines a dis could really mess dat kid up. I don't t'ink he really t'ought it out much 'fore he acted, y'know?"

Chance gave a slow concurrent nod, and wandered towards the common room to round everyone up, lost deep in his own thoughts, the worry already eating away at him.


	4. Reality Check

**AN – Yeah, yeah, I love these things. Okay, so here's the deal my lovely readers. First off, I know more than just Lauren is reading this, and I would be grateful if someone else would review, even if just to tell me things you think I could work on!**

** Secondly, I'm going to apologize in advance for what may end up being a delay in updates in the upcoming weeks. I just found out my mom has breast cancer, and I am extremely close to my mother. I was blessed with wonderful, kind, loving parents and my mom is the one I run to when life becomes too much so this is hitting me really hard. And one of two things will happen. Either I will be so distracted with being there for my mom and my son that the updates will be very slow coming and all but stop, or I will have such a severe need to distract myself that the updates will be coming like crazy….we'll see huh? Anyways thank yinz for your patience if the first and most likely option happens and anyone who prays please keep my mom in your prayers! **

** Enjoy this chapter….the next chapter will most likely jump a couple years in the future, yay! And I must thank DramaLo who's random "tweet" conversations about "Romantical Newsie Octagons", and "Bed O Funs", and the dividing up of newsies has helped keep a smile on my face these past few days, haha.**

Chance sat with his back against the door to his room, unable and unwilling to sleep. He'd been keeping watch over the two young boys all night, and he'd already had to calm both boys back down a couple of times from nightmares. He watched the dawn begin to stream through the window, illuminating the two sleeping figures. Bathed in the soft light, they looked so young and innocent Chance could scarcely bring himself to believe Skittery was the same boy he walked in on committing murder the night before.

There was a soft knock on the door behind him and he stood up, opening it up.

"Didja sleep at all, Chance?" Lawrence asked, as Chance stepped into the hallway so as not to disturb the boys.

"Um, no. Dey's kept wakin' up an' stuff. Dey needed me," he shrugged.

Lawrence shook his head, but refrained from getting fatherly on Chance. "Well you's gonna send dem out ta sell taday or tell 'em ta stay 'ere?"

"I was jus' gonna 'ave 'im stay home taday. Can you's keep an eye on 'em?"

Lawrence shook his head. "I 'ave a better idea. You's stay 'ere wid 'em. Don't worry about tanight's lodgin' fee, from any a you's all right? I's gonna take care a some stuff taday, an' leave you's three da place ta yaselves."

Chance wanted to protest, but was too tired, so he just nodded, clapped Lawrence on the shoulder, and snuck back in the room. Skittery was thrashing on the bed, so Chance climbed in between the two boys, placing a reassuring arm around both of them, and whispering soothingly until he fell back into a fitful sleep. It didn't take long for the seductive lure of sleep to reel Chance in, and when Lawrence stopped by to tell him he was leaving he found them all peacefully asleep, cramped up together in the small bed.

Skittery shifted awake a couple hours later, blinking against the bright, invading sunlight that was pouring in the streaky window. He slowly climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Chance or Spot, and padded his way to the washroom. He splashed the cold water on his face in an attempt to wake up, and dried his face on the towel. Straightening up he was hit with a wave of unexplainable nausea, and leaned over the sink, fighting back the sick feeling. Swallowing rapidly, he sunk down on the cold, tiled floor of the washroom, suddenly overwhelmed.

The events of the night before played in his head on repeat and he fought back the tears, reminding his self he was a man and men didn't cry. Anyway, it wasn't like he regretted his decision. And why should he? How else was he expected to keep Spot safe if their fathers were running loose around Brooklyn? He knew he hadn't thought the whole running away thing through very much and he certainly hadn't thought though anything else either. Ten years old was too young to be responsible for yourself and your seven year old cousin in his mind.

Chance woke up to find Spot curled up on his left hand side and an empty bed on his right hand side where Skittery should have been. Dazed, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and groaning at the ache in his back from sleeping in an awkward position. He looked around the room, confirming that Skittery wasn't in it, and with a sigh he swung his legs over the bed, standing and waiting for the brief moment of vertigo to pass. He looked all over, finally finding the young boy on the bathroom floor. His back was restng against the wall, and his knees were pulled to his chin. The look on his face was unreadable, an odd mixture of sadness, relief, anxiety, and a multitude of other emotions too advanced for his age.

Chance paused in the doorway, unsure as to whether to interrupt the boy's thoughts or leave him be. Eventually Chance went with his gut and strode in, taking a seat next to him on the floor. "How's it goin', kiddo?"

Skittery glared out him out of the corner of his eye. He despised being patronized. He may be young but he'd been through more in his short life than people five times his age and he knew it. He decided not to dignify Chance's pointless question with a response, and instead turned his head laying his cheek against the top of his knees and staring in the opposite direction of Chance.

"All right, I get it. You's don't wanna talk about it." Skittery didn't bother to correct his wrongful assumption, and Chance continued. "Well, you may not wanna talk ta me, and dat's fine I ain't gonna force ya. But when Spot wakes up, I hope you's know you's gonna hafta talk ta 'im," Chance informed him, patience worn thin due to a lack of sleep as he stood back up.

"I don't hafta listen ta you's" Skittery muttered from the floor.

Chance looked down at him as he lathered up his face and picked up the razor sitting precariously on the edge of the sink. "You's like stayin' 'ere dan yeah, ya do actually," He corrected the boy, dragging the blade across his skin, and shaking off the excess. "You's wanna pretend it didn't happen ta me, Sweet, Lawrence, yaself, anyone else, I don't really care. But you's made da decision, an you's can deal wid da consequences of talkin' ta Spot and explainin' it ta 'im." Chance returned the boy's look, and gave up halfway through his shave, throwing the razor back in the sink and stalking out of the washroom.

Skittery mimicked him to his back as he walked out, huffing and pouting and refusing to admit that Chance was right, even though he knew he was. He sat there griping to himself until he felt a presence enter the washroom. Warily he glanced over, and saw his cousin shifting nervously a few feet away. Inwardly he groaned but outwardly he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, standing up and motioning Spot to follow him over to an unused bunk.

He hemmed and hawed for a few moments, having no clue what to say.

Finally Spot broke the uncomfortable silence. "I like it 'ere. I don't wanna 'ave ta leave. I feel safe 'ere, an' I feel wanted 'ere, an' you's went and screwed all dat up!"

Skittery felt like he'd been punched in the gut and was at a loss for how to respond. He made a feeble half-hearted excuse which was met with an icy stare from Spot. Finally he decided to just be honest. With Spot and with himself. "I can't tell you's I's sorry cause I ain't. I wasn't t'inkin' t'ough, an' I's didn't mean ta scare you's."

"You's didn't scare me!" Spot responded a little too quickly.

Skittery nodded, knowing better than to fight him on the obvious lie. "We's okay?"

Spot shrugged, not giving him a real answer, and left the room before Skittery could push the issue. Skittery watched him leave, and flopped back on the bed. He was frustrated with himself, with Chance, with Spot and with life. It was all getting to be too much for him to handle, and he started searching the lodging house for Chance. He finally found him sitting on the fire escape, and he climbed out the window joining him.

Chance glanced over at him, and recognized the look of loneliness and pain shining out of his eyes. It tore him apart inside to see this city and this sad excuse for a life ruining someone so young. His previous anger and irritation was quickly forgotten as he pulled the boy close to his side in a vain attempt to wash away his fears and hurt.

Chance's own life hadn't been so great but he was naturally positive, and he'd never been through anything close to what he imagined the two young cousins must have gone through, and he'd certainly never had to deal with anything like what Skittery was trying to come to terms with now. He didn't know how to make it better how to put a smile back on the kid's face and that bothered him more deeply than he was able to comprehend.

So for now he did the only thing he could, and held the boy in his arms as the sobs wracked through his body when the reality of the situation finally came crashing down upon him.

**AN – Sorry it was so short! And not quite up to the standards of the previous chapter (at least in my opinion.) I'll try to make the next chapter longer and better to make up for this one!**


	5. Opium Inspired Dreams

**AN – If you're offended by detailed drug use, you may want to skip this chapter. You have been warned.**

**Okay, also, since today is my birthday, I decided to get you all a gift (wait…that's not how it works!) and post a new chapter, which is decently long. Spot fans-Spot will be in the next chapter much more than this one, I promise!!! OH and note that this chapter jumped ahead 3 years.**

**1894**

"T'ank ya, miss," Skittery mumbled, waiting for the lady who bought the paper to walk away before he shoved his cap back on his head. His eyes searched the street, finally seeking out Spot on the other side. Spot glanced up and over at him, giving him a smile that meant he'd just conned someone into buying a paper. Skittery shook his head grinning back, and motioned that he was moving farther down the street. Spot shrugged back unconcerned, and turned away ready to scam the next person who walked by him.

Searching his pockets, Skittery dug a crumpled up cigarette out of his pants, cursing when he realized he had no matches. He saw Chance down the street and debated asking him for some, but wasn't sure he was in the mood for the lecture that would precede the handing over of a match. Weighing his options he finally gave in, and jogged over to Chance.

"Gotta light?"

Chance raised his eyebrows, "Don't smoke on da job, kid."

"Don't lecture me, old man," Skittery retorted, holding out a hand and tapping his foot impatiently.

Chance tried to appear insulted, but let out a chuckle, digging a pack of matches out of his shirt pocket and dropping them into Skittery's open palm. It'd been three years since the two boys had joined them at the lodging house, and he barely recognized them anymore. They certainly weren't the same two quiet and scared boys he'd met back then. Both boys actually ended up having a mouth on them, and they loved to torment him and talk back. They were also the only ones who could get away with it towards Chance.

It had taken Spot a few months to forgive his cousin, but now they were back to being best friends. Skittery had never mentioned what he'd done that night. Chance didn't know if he just refused to admit it out loud, or if he'd never even managed to admit it to himself. Skittery had allowed himself to break down in front of Chance that one time, and afterwards he'd gotten up washed his face and pretended like everything was normal. Sweets had brought home a paper that day with an article about it, and their mothers had said that it had been a nameless break in the middle of the night. Last Chance had heard, their mothers left New York all together, but he still kept an ear out in case they ever returned.

Chance turned to say something to Skittery, but found he'd already scampered off somewhere. He never stayed in one place very long unless he was asleep. Chance sold his last paper, and checked his pocket watch, glad the day was almost over. He picked his way through the crowded streets, sidestepping the playing children and street vendors in the middle of packing up their carts, finally arriving at the diner and throwing himself into a booth, exhausted. He dropped his head on the table with a bang, refusing to pick it up when he heard someone slide into the seat across from him.

"Long day?" The voice of Spades questioned.

Chance grunted a reply and mumbled something about a beer, refusing to pick his head up until he heard a satisfying clunk on the table which meant a mug of beer had been delivered.

Spades smirked at him when he raised his head ever so slightly attempting to slurp some beer out without having to go to the added hassle of actually picking up the glass. He glared at Spades over top of the mug. "I need a new job," he muttered.

"Yeah who 'ere don't?" Spades replied.

"I figure I got a year left 'ere, tops," Chance continued, glancing at Spades over top of his mug.

"You an' me both," Sweets joined the conversation, and Spades scooted over allowing the other boy to slide in next to him. "Well would ya look at dat. Don't see dat every day," Sweets interrupted himself to motion towards the door with his beer.

Spades glanced up and Chance turned around, scanning the room until he realized what Sweets was talking about. Spot was coming in the door of the diner, but he was alone, Skittery nowhere in sight.

Sweets noticed the muscles in Chance's jaw working overtime, and the way he was suddenly on edge, his eyes flitting back and forth rapidly. "He's thirteen now, Chance. You's can't go runnin' ta find 'im every time he ain't where you's want 'im ta be."

Chance shot Sweets a look, but stayed in his seat, jiggling his leg impatiently until Spot finally wandered over, and sat next to him.

"Where's Skitts?" Chance greeted him.

Spot shrugged. "I dunno, he ain't me damn dog, I don't keep tabs on 'im every second a da day."

Spades snorted into his hand trying to cover it with a cough, and Sweets elbowed him even though he was trying to conceal his laughter too. This time they were both treated to one of Chance's looks, and they quickly wiped the smiles off their faces.

"All right, first off what's wit da attitude, little man? An' second off, bull shit ya know where he is." Chance stated matter-of-factly, staring Spot down.

Spot, however, wasn't easily intimidated, and he shrugged for the second time, and refused to reply.

"For Chrissakes. Move," Chance told Spot. Spot sneered at him, but moved nonetheless, allowing Chance to unfold his tall frame from the booth.

"Chance where ya goin'? He's plenty old enough ta take care a himself!" Spades yelled out after him.

Chance waved him off over his shoulder, muttering under his breath that that's what he was afraid of. Shoving open the door he stepped on the sidewalk, and started searching the city over, looking for any sign of the boy, growing more frustrated with each place that he didn't find him at.

He was about to give up and head back to the lodging house when he spied a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the pier. He strolled over to join him, and was about to sit down when he noticed Skittery tipping a bottle filled with amber colored liquid into his mouth.

"Are ya fuckin' kidding me!" He yelled, wincing at his own words. He swore plenty, but rarely did he swear at people.

Skittery seemed entirely unimpressed, and didn't even hesitate, as he continued to drain most of the bottle into his mouth before handing the almost empty bottle up towards Chance. "Sorry, didja want some?" He slurred.

Chance reached down, yanking the bottle away from him and throwing it into the water below. "What the hell do ya t'ink you's doin'!"

Skittery glared up at him, his eyes filled with hatred, and a mocking smile on his face as he stood up, pointing accusingly at Chance. "How old was you when you's first started ta drink?"

"Dat ain't here nor now," Chance avoided the question, knowing the kid had him backed into a corner.

Skittery shook his head, laughing a dry, sardonic laugh as he fumbled with a match trying to get his cigarette lit. He finally succeeded, and he looked up, meeting Chance's stare. "You's owe me half a bottle a whiskey," He told him, and turned to leave.

Chance reached out, grasping the boy's thin wrist, and yanking him back, and Skittery whirled around, the angry look back on his face. "Getcha damn hands offa me!"

"Where da hell ya t'ink you's goin'?" Chance asked, letting his wrist drop.

"Dat ain't none a ya damn business," Skittery snarled.

Before Chance could stop himself, he reached out, smacking the boy across the face.

Skittery stood stock still, shaking ever so slightly.

"Shit, kid, I's sorry," Chance began, only to stop when he saw the look in the boy's eye.

In a cold, emotionless voice, Skittery told him, "You's no better dan me fadder," and turned, breaking into a run. Chance knew better than to chase after him. Silently, Chance cursed himself for losing his temper. He rarely let his emotions get the best of him, and he'd never raised a hand at someone younger than himself. And of all people to do it to, that certainly was one of the worst picks.

He considered diving in the water and finding the bottle of whiskey. Shaking his head in disgust at himself, he kicked at a rock, and headed back towards the lodging house.

* * *

Skittery ran until he was completely out of breath, and finally collapsed onto some steps leading up towards an apartment. He tried to figure out where he was, but he didn't recognize anything. He knew he wasn't in Brooklyn anymore, since there wasn't an inch of land over there he hadn't familiarized himself with. He sat on the steps, feeling numb, and wishing he had more to drink. With shaking hands, he struggled to light another cigarette, ignoring the group of men walking by and hollering insults him. Yeah, he was a street rat, and a waste of space. Tell him something he didn't know

He could still feel the sting on his cheek where Chance had hit him, and he resolved to not go back to the lodging house that night. He watched the homeless man across the street, throwing looks over his shoulder as he climbed into an old building, and Skittery's curiosity got the best of him, so he snuck over, peering in the window where the man had disappeared.

He saw a ragged, mismatched group of boy and girls, men and women, sitting or laying in a chaotic circle, passing something around, each holding it over the fire in the middle in the group before bringing it to their lips, and then passing it on. He realized what they were doing; since he'd seen his parents do it when he was younger.

"Hey, kid, ya need help in, or what?" Skittery spun around to see a tall, creepy looking guy in his mid twenties or so.

He stuttered for a second, and finally nodded his head resolutely, climbing in the broken window, and joining the small group of people. He took the pipe and the small black chunk that was handed to him, dropping it in the long, thin pipe, and held it over the open flame until it began to bubble. Bringing it to his lips, he sucked the thick, sweet smoke deep into his lungs until none of the vaporized contents were left in the bowl, and handed the pipe to the creepy guy who'd come in behind him. He held the smoke in for a minute, before slowly exhaling, and trying to figure out what the big deal about this was.

He sat there for a few minutes, in a darkened room full of strangers, the humid air filled with smoke. By the time the pipe was handed back to him, he was eager for more, as he felt all of his worries easing out of his soul with each exhale. His body took on an odd, pleasant feeling, and by his fifth intake his eyelids were so heavy he left the circle, joining the other people who were in various stages of being passed out in the corners of the rooms.

Relaxing onto a dirty, stained couch cushion he lit a cigarette, realizing they had never tasted so wonderful before this point. He sucked at the cigarette, until he felt his fingertips burning on it, and then he dropped it on the concrete floor, smashing it with the heel of his boot. Lying all the way down, he gave into the darkness that was overcoming him, and fell into the wonderful dreamland brought on by the drug.

* * *

With a worried eye, Lawrence watched Chance pace the floor of the common room. "C'mon, buddy. You's gonna wear a hole in me carpet," He complained, trying to elicit a smile from the typically cheerful teen.

Chance either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. Lawrence would place his bet on the latter, and he eventually came around the desk, stopping Chance in his tracks. "It's da middle a da night. If he ain't 'ere by now, he ain't comin' back tonight. Go to bed. Worryin' ain't gonna fix noin'."

Spot was asleep on the couch, he'd refused to go to sleep until Skittery came home, but by one thirty his body had deceived him, no matter how hard he'd struggled to stay awake. Sweets was sitting on the other end of the couch, his head kept dropping before he'd snap it back up, trying to stay awake also. Spades had Razz and Bull playing a hand of cards with him, as they attempted to stay awake as well.

Lawrence glanced around the room, wondering if the missing boy even realized how many people would actually miss him and notice when he didn't come home. "All right!" He clapped his hands together. The boys at the table all turned to look at him, and Sweets snapped his head up again, and Spot sat up, confused, and rubbing his eyes. "Everyone up ta bed. Now."

Lawrence rarely told them all what to do, but when he did they listened, so everyone filed up the stairs, Sweets lifting up a half asleep Spot and carrying him, protesting all the way, up the steps. Chance still ignored Lawrence, though,

"Dat included you's," Lawrence informed him.

"How could I a been so damn stupid!" Chance finally exploded, punching the wall behind him, and instantly regretting it.

"Ya made a mistake. People make mistakes, Chance. Don't be so hard on yaself."

"I hit a kid! I hit a kid who spent his whole damned childhood getting' beat up by his parents! Dat ain't a mistake, dat's unforgiveable."

"Oh, c'mon. No it ain't. Dem boys both got such mouths on dem I t'ink we've all wanted ta smack 'em at one point or another," Lawrence tried to lighten the mood.

Chance shot him a look so venomous that it actually caused Lawrence to take a step back and hold his hands up. "All right, I'm gonna go ta sleep. Let me know if you's need anythin'. An' maybe consider goin' ta sleep you's self." He couldn't help but add over his shoulder as he headed towards his room, shutting the door.

Chance made a slightly unnecessary gesture at his back, and went back to his pacing, worrying, and cursing of his self.

* * *

Skittery startled awake an unknown amount of hours later, dazed and having no clue where he was. The previous night slowly trickled back into his brain, but it was a foggy, surreal memory, nowhere near as vivid as the dreams he'd fallen into. His head was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach. He made an effort to stand up, and was hit with a wave of dizziness, immediately sitting back down.

He let his eyes wander the room, as he tried to gather himself together. Most people were asleep, lying in various positions alone or on top of each other. There were still a few people in the middle of the room awake and continuing to chase the dragon. The creepy guy from before being one of them. He noticed Skittery awake, and held up the pipe, the unasked question on his face.

"Only way ta make da sick feelin' go away is ta 'ave some more," He mumbled through a stoned grin.

With a mental shrug, Skittery rose, and with much difficulty managed to drag himself over there, reminding himself it was one foot in front of the other. Creepy Guy handed him the pipe with the boiling drug, and Skittery took it gratefully, once again inhaling deeply, and passing it along. As the smoke filled his lungs, it chased away his nausea and headache, and the tension crept out of his body once again.

Skittery glanced towards the small window with the jagged edges of broken glass, and saw it was still dark out. He told himself he'd only take a few more hits, and then he'd head back to the lodging house. With any luck everyone would be asleep. He took the pipe as it came back around, going through the motions almost robotically after only one night. For another hour he sat there, smoking pipeful after pipeful of the black drug, until he remembered he was supposed to leave.

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, stumbling towards the window. He stood on the rickety chair below it, and heaved himself out and back onto the dark, deserted streets. That was when he realized he had no idea where he was. And he really wanted to sleep. He turned around, considering going back in the building to sleep, but it seemed like a lot of work to climb back in the window.

He walked about half a block before he tripped over his feet, and fell onto the middle of the street. He sighed, not even knowing if he was heading the right direction, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He found the matches he'd acquired earlier, and struck one on his boot, attempting to light the end of the cigarette. All he succeeded in doing was singing his hair and eyelashes. He shook out the match, and tried three times more before he finally got the cigarette lit.

He sat in the middle of the street, looking left to right and wondering which way to head to get back to Brooklyn. It might help if he even knew what borough he was in, but he had no clue. He'd only left Brooklyn twice before in his life. Nothing was familiar, and he grew frustrated. All he wanted was to be home in bed. Sleep sounded really good right now, and the cobblestones were looking pretty comfortable. He gave up, and gave in to the seductive call of sleep, laying down on his back, and taking a long, leisurely draw off his cigarette, before he flicked it away, and put his hands under his head. Staring up at the sky his eyelids lowered, and he was almost asleep when a shadow was cast in the low glow of the streetlight.

Skittery blinked his eyesight back into focus, and recognized Creepy Guy standing over him and staring down at him. "Hey kid, dis ain't a good place ta be sleepin'. You's gonna get run over by a horse or soin' come morin'."

"Yeah, well, I dunno which way me home is," He explained rationally. The guy shook his head, muttering something, and bent over, yanking Skittery to his feet.

"Where ya live?"

"Brooklyn."

"Shit. All right, c'mon," He started to walk off in the direction of Brooklyn, assuming the boy would follow.

Skittery stared after him, slightly confused at first, before he finally hurried after him, and hoped the guy knew where he was going. After a long walk, in which Skittery fell over more times than he cared to remember, they arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge.

Creepy Guy turned to Skittery, finally saying something. "Can you's get yaself home from 'ere?"

Skittery nodded, thanking him, and wondering if he'd be able to make it the short walk to the lodging house without falling asleep halfway there.

* * *

Chance shot a dirty look at the clock on the wall, which was ticking scornfully with each passing second. It was four in the morning. He had to be up in two hours, and Skittery had never showed. He was about to give in and head up to bed, when the doorknob on the front door turned, and the door opened. He sighed in relief, as Skittery came edging through the door, trying to sneak in.

He shut the door slowly, wincing at the click which reverberated through the entire lodging house in his mind sounding louder than the bell at the distribution center. Turning around, he jumped back, startled to find Chance standing there.

"Um, hi," he gave a small wave, wondering what his chances were of getting past Chance and up the stairs without a confrontation and without Chance realizing how messed up he was. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wondered what the chances were of him even making it up the steps without falling back down. His feet felt like lead and he really wanted to sleep. The room was spinning, and the shadows dancing around the room were taking on forms and shapes that were too human for his tastes. He was beginning to become disoriented again, and was no longer sure if it really was just Chance and him in the room because he could swear he saw half of Brooklyn lurking in the common room.

Chance watched Skittery sway on his feet, and look around the room. He turned around trying to figure out what had the boy's interest, and couldn't see anything, so he turned back around to face him. Something was off. Skittery was mumbling something, but it seemed to be directed at something behind Chance, even though no one was there. He walked slightly towards Chance, tripping over his feet slightly, and Chance cursed realizing he must be drunk. But that didn't add up either. He reached out a hand, steadying Skittery, and crouched down, placing a hand under the boys chin, and forcing his face into the light. He studied him a second, looking in his eyes, and trying to place where he's seen that blank, slightly crazed look before, and the jerky, paranoid movements.

Skittery batted his hand way, but missed terribly, batting at the air instead, as he stared at the couch, wondering how to get there.

The facial expressions, the movement, the mumbling, Chance knew it was familiar, and he racked his brain. When he realized where he'd seen people acting like that before he stood up quickly, swearing, and yelling for Lawrence.

"Dis better be good, Chance," Lawrence muttered through a yawn a minute later coming out from his bedroom. He took one look at Skittery, and copied Chance, swearing out loud. Skittery made another motion, trying to get the point across to them that he wanted to go sleep on the couch, as he took a step towards it.

Chance grabbed him again before he fell, and together he and Lawrence got him to the couch. Skittery mumbled what was supposed to be a thank you, and immediately curled up on the couch, falling back into his new favorite place of opium inspired dreams.

Chance sat on the end of the couch resting his head in his hands, and convinced it was all his fault. Lawrence heaved a sigh, and sat in the chair across from the couch, watching the two boys for a minute.

"If he's doin' drugs, I can't 'ave 'im in da lodgin' house, Chance," Lawrence finally said, even though it pained him to do so.

"Well it's me fault, ain't it?" Chance muttered, not raising his head.

"He's thirteen. He's old enough ta make his own decisions, an' it looks like he made a pretty stupid one tonight," Lawrence corrected him.

Chance finally raised his head, meeting Lawrence's gaze. "So whadda we do?"

"We let 'im sleep it off, an' we pray it's jus' a one time t'ing. Can you's get him up ta you's room? I don't want da other boys ta know 'bout dis."

Chance nodded distractedly, his attention no longer on Lawrence, and instead focused on the sleeping boy lying next to him. Lawrence watched them for a few more seconds, and finally got up, silently heading back into his room.

Chance waited until his door shut before he too stood up, and struggled to pick up the boy, who was no longer the small ten year old boy he'd once been. He finally got him scooped up, and started up the steps, kicking open his door, and practically dropping Skittery in the bed, who didn't even stir through the whole ordeal.

"Christ, kid, I's sorry," he told the sleeping boy, hesitating, before he finally left his room, shutting the door, and deciding to sleep in one of the empty bunk for the couple hours he had before he had to get up.


	6. Spot's Curiosity

Chance stumbled around, bleary eyed from only getting a couple hours of sleep, and attempting to avoid questions about where Skittery had been the night before and why he was in Chance's room and Chance was in the bunk room. He ignored everyone, and stomped out of the bunk room, relentlessly pounding on his bed room door, before walking in. He threw open the drapes, letting the sun shine into Skittery's eyes, and then yanked the covers off his head.

"What the fuck!" Skittery exclaimed, rolling onto his stomach and burying his head in his pillow.

"Time ta get up. You's got about five minutes ta get dressed. So I suggest you's get up. Now." Chance wasn't in the mood to play games, and stalked back out of the room, figuring if he didn't get up, it was his own fault for staying out late and doing drugs.

Spot was hanging around outside the room, and waited for Chance to walk past before he let himself into the room. "Where was you's last night?" He greeted Skittery.

Skittery avoided making eye contact and for the first time in his life, he lied to his younger cousin. "Jus' needed some time ta me self," He muttered, climbing out of bed, and trying not to topple over.

"What's wrong wid you's? Ya sick?" Spot asked, tilting his head, watching Skittery attempt to walk a straight line.

"Um, yeah," Skittery replied, distractedly.

Spot watched him for a few more seconds, knowing full well that there was something he wasn't being told, and then he grumbled out of the room, and headed out to sell, deciding he wanted no part of whatever Skittery was up to.

Spot sold by himself for the first half of the morning, until he spotted Chance down the street, and hurried to catch up with him.

"Hey Little Man. Whatcha need?" Chance greeted him, nodding absently to the man buying a paper from him.

"Where was Skittery last night? And why does he look so sick dis mornin'?" Spot wasn't one for idle chit-chat and cut straight to the point, staring at Chance, daring him to deny him the truth.

"It ain't me place ta tell ya. I'm sorry, Spot. But if I was you, I'd leave you's cousin be for awhile. Find someone new ta pal around wid or soin', all right?" Chance threw an arm around his shoulder, which Spot quickly knocked off with a look of disgust.

"T'anks. Dat was real fuckin' helpful," He muttered.

Chance flicked Spot's ear and retorted "Watch ya mouth, kid" before turning and walking away, leaving Spot shooting daggers at his back.

Spot quickly sold the rest of his papers, and was pleased to find he had plenty of time before the next edition to go get something to eat at the diner. He opened the door, and stood in the doorway, letting his eyes roam the dim room, finally seeing Skittery sitting at a table in the corner, with his head down. Spot walked over and pulled out the chair across from him collapsing into it. Skittery didn't stir.

Spot poked him in the shoulder, and he mumbled something, but still didn't move. "Are ya dead? Can I 'ave ya bed, if you's dead?" Spot questioned him.

Skittery raised his head slightly, glaring at his cousin. He tried to think of a clever comeback, but failed, and dropped his head back onto the table. Spot felt a hand drop on his shoulder, and glanced up to see Chance.

"Can I talk ta Skittery a second?"

Spot shrugged and stood up, heading to another table, and Chance dropped into the now vacant seat. Skittery kept his head firmly planted down, refusing to look up at the older boy.

"I was only a year older dan you's when I started to lead da lodgin' house. Didja know dat?" Chance asked, seemingly out of the blue. He got no response from Skittery, but he hadn't expected to, so he continued. "I'm gonna be leavin' da newsies soon. I'm getting too old ta do dis shit. I was kinda hopin' I could count on you's to take over when I leave." Chance waited, hoping he'd get a response to this, but there was none. For all he knew the kid was sleeping across the table and he was talking to air.

"Den you's go and pull some dumb ass move like last night. Am I s'pose ta leave an' den wonder everyday whether or not you's alive or dead in da streets?" Chance waited, finally getting fed up and reaching over and yanking Skittery's head up. "I'm talkin ta ya, kid! How 'bout some respect?"

"You's want respect? Den next time, try not hittin' me," Skittery spat at him, letting his head fall again.

Chance took a deep breath, calming himself mentally before responding. "Well 'ere's da deal. I'm willin' ta overlook you's lapse in judgment, an' so is Lawrence. But if either of us catch you's pullin' a stunt like dat again, den you's out a da lodgin' house. Got it?" Skittery made an obscene gesture with his hand which Chance decided meant he understood.

Spot listened in from where he was sitting, occasionally nodding to the boy sitting next to him so no one would realize he was eavesdropping. He hadn't learned much, though, and it only succeeded in piquing his curiosity even more.

"Spot!"

Annoyed Spot turned back to the guy sitting next to him. He racked his name for his name, knowing it was something to do with a dog. Hound. That was it. The kid was around Spot's age, and had come in about six months ago. Actually, now that Spot thought about it, he'd gotten his nickname because he was so good at sniffing things out. Which meant he'd be the perfect person to help Spot figure out what was going on with Skittery that had Chance and Lawrence in such an uproar.

"Sorry, Hound. Hey, wanna sell da afternoon edition wid me? I's got soin' ta talk ta you's 'bout," Spot gave him his most innocent grin, trying to appear friendly.

"Sure," Hound shrugged, shoving back his seat and following Spot towards the distribution center.

"So, Hound. You's pretty good at finding out what's goin' on, ain'tcha?" Spot asked, pasting a sincere look on his face.

"Yeah, usually," Hound agreed, nodding. "Why?"

"Well, I was wonderin' if you's would wanna help me figure out what's goin' on wid me cousin an' Chance." Hound looked at him suspiciously, but Spot kept the sweet and innocent look pasted on his face. "I's jus' real concerned 'bout 'im. Ya know, he's always looked out for me, an' I want ta make sure noin's wrong. Dat's all." Spot ducked his head, pretending to be shy, and watched Hounds reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Well," Hound thought for a minute, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess I could dig around a little, see what if I can find anythin' out for you's."

"Really? You'd do dat for me? T'anks, Hound. I sure appreciate it!" Spot wanted to throw up at his own act, but he could tell Hound was buying it, and that was all that mattered.

Hound started to reply, but Spot was already halfway down the street, cornering a rich looking lady, and giving her a sob story which caused her to buy a paper. Hound thought there was a good chance he'd just been played, but he'd already told Spot he would do it, and he wasn't a liar.

Spot sold all his papers for the second time that day, and then wandered over to his favorite place. A small tree down by the river, which was hidden from everyone and everything. No one ever came down here except for him and Skittery. It had been their safe haven of sorts, where they escaped to when the house got to be too bad. Spot still made his way down there a couple times a week, as did Skittery. This is why Spot was less than surprised to see his cousin sitting in front of the tree, with his back leaned against it, his legs propped in front of him and his cap pulled down over his eyes.

Spot joined his cousin, sitting down in front of the tree. "So what's got Chance so angry wid you's?" He asked. Maybe he could get the real story and let Hound off the hook.

"Who knows?" Skittery shrugged. He hated lying to Spot, but he wasn't about to tell a ten year old he'd spent the night in an opium den.

"Jus' so you's know, I don't believe ya at all, but I ain't goin' ta push da issue right now," Spot informed him. The two boys lapsed back into silence. The only sounds came from the gurgling of the water, the birds chirping from the tree, and the steady click of Skittery's fingernails against each other.

Spot stared out at the water, playing with a piece of grass, trying to remember how to make it whistle. Skittery watched him for awhile before he reached over and plucked a blade of grass of his own.

"Like dis," he told Spot. He held the grass pulled tight between his thumbs, and blew, causing a shrill whistle to pierce the silence, and the birds in the tree above to scatter. Spot copied his cousin, and got a small noise to escape. He threw the blade of grass back on the ground, suddenly bored with the game.

Resting his head on his knees, he stared out at the water again.

"You ever t'ink 'bout jus' getting' da hell outta 'ere?" Skittery asked.

"Outta Brooklyn?"

"Brooklyn. New York. Jus' go out in da country somewhere. Where evrythin' is peaceful jus' like it is down 'ere." Skittery replied wistfully.

"I'm ten. So, no. Not really," Spot shrugged. "Besides, I like Brooklyn. I never wanna leave it."

Skittery stared at him, but bit back a bitter retort, instead standing up. "I'll see ya later."

Spot watched him walk away, and then laid down in the grass, staring up into the sky instead of the water. He decided he liked the sky better. It was a pure blue, as opposed to the dirty, ruined blue of the water. He watched the clouds roll by, and watched the sun lower itself on the horizon. He knew it was getting late, and he should head back to the lodging house, but it was so peaceful out there that the thought of the noisy lodging house was unappealing. He had a bit before anyone would start to worry, anyway, so he let his eyes droop closed, and drifted off into a nap.

He woke up a few minutes later because he could feel someone staring at him. He opened his eyes, and turned his head. A girl around his age was sitting a few feet away, and watching him. "What?" He asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

The girl smiled at him, her brown eyes twinkling. She brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes and scooted closer. Holding out a hand she smiled at him. "Hi. I'm Nicole."

Spot glared at her hand and back up at her. "Yeah, dat's nice. Whaddya want?"

"What's your name?" She ignored his question.

Spot looked at her, and shook his head, as he pulled his self up into a sitting position. "Spot," He relented.

"That's not a name," She laughed. It was a good natured type of laugh though, and not a mean one, so Spot didn't take offense. He noticed she didn't have a New York accent, though.

"Where ya from?" He asked.

"My family moved here from California a few weeks ago. I haven't met too many kids my age yet. So when I saw you, I jumped at the chance to meet you. Sorry if it was rude."

Spot shrugged. "Listen, I's gotta get goin'," He stood up, brushing himself off, and reached down to grab his hat.

Nicole's face fell, and Spot felt like a jerk. "You live 'round 'ere?" He questioned.

She nodded, "Yes, just a few blocks that way."

"Meet me here tomorrow evenin'," He offered, almost hoping she'd say no. He wasn't sure what possessed him to offer anyway. He didn't exactly want to go making new friends.

"Okay," Nicole smiled up at him, reminding Spot why he'd offered. He mumbled a goodbye and turned to head back before Chance sent out a search party.


	7. Protector of Desolation

**A/N- Meh, chapter took forever, I hit major road blockage with it and not sure it came out the way I wanted. Let me know what you think though, I'd appreciate it! Sorry for the delay in updating! No promises as to when the next will be posted either, sorry! Please forgive!**

The only reason Spot found himself heading back towards the tree by the river the next day was because he kept his word. He may have only been ten, but he still knew that a real man never backed out of a promise. Things with Skittery had been extra strained all day, and it didn't take a scholar to notice the tension between Skittery and Chance, so perhaps Spot also needed to get away from the drama of the lodging house. Whatever the reasoning may have been, Spot found himself sitting under the tree, and waiting to see if the girl would show up.

He tilted his head back while he waited, and watched the evening sun filter through the leaves above. He almost felt like he was betraying Skittery by meeting someone else here, but he knew Skittery was keeping something from him, so he ended up only feeling guilty about not feeling guilty to begin with. Staring into the summer sun, he decided it was too nice out to think about anything heavy, and he stood up, making his way down to the river bank. Removing his boots and rolling up his pant legs, he sat with his feet cooling off in the water, and listened to the sounds of someone approaching behind him.

Nicole sat down next to him, not seeming to care about the dirt that was sure to stain her dress. "You came," She greeted him with a smile.

Spot glanced over at her, before quickly averting his eyes back t the water, and giving a noncommittal shrug. "Yup," He agreed.

Nicole studied the boy next to her. Dirty blonde hair fell carelessly into his face, tanned arms resting on top of knees, and smoky blue eyes that hinted at deep secrets never to be revealed. "You don't say much," She observed.

Spot looked at her for a little longer this time, and finally said "I say what needs ta be said."

Nicole was uncomfortable with the silence, and her biggest fault was that she would keep up a steady stream of conversation. It drove her family crazy, especially her sister who usually got stuck listening to it. But something about the boy sitting next to her made her not feel the need for all the talking. She realized the silence was kind of nice.

A girl could only be expected to take so much though. "So do you live close by with your parents?" Nicole asked.

Spot looked at her incredulously, figuring she had to be joking. "Um, no. I don't live with me parents."

"Well who do you live with?"

Spot heaved a sigh, so she'd realize how much she was annoying him and launched into the spiel about newsies and lodging houses, a little thrown that she hadn't managed to realize it for herself. Californians.

"Where are your parents?" She asked when he was finished. Spot rolled his eyes, and shook his head, not answering her. He quickly stood up, yanking his boots back on and rolling his pants back down.

"I hafta go. Bye," He muttered, as he quickly made his way back up to the streets. He ignored her calling after him, and walked back to the lodging house at a steady pace, sighing in relief when he finally got home.

It was still early, and he was pleased to see that only a few others were back at the lodging house. He settled up with Lawrence, and wandered into the common room. Hound was hanging out on the couch, and Spot sat next to him. He made sure no one was paying attention to them, before asking, "So you's find anythin' good out?"

"Not yet, sorry. Every time I's tried ta find soin' out dey all clammed up," Hound admitted." But I'll keep workin'," He added hastily when he saw Spots features harden.

Spots frown increased, but he didn't reply. He glanced up at the sound of the door, and saw Skittery stride through it, heading over to Lawrence to settle up for the day. Spot bid his time waiting on his cousin, and was a little thrown when he headed straight up the stairs, ignoring everyone. He waited a minute and then followed him up, where he found him getting ready for bed.

"Ya know it's early, right?" Spot asked.

Skittery just shrugged, and mumbled something about being tired.

"When did you's start keepin' stuff from me?" Spot asked, beginning to get annoyed at being left out of whatever was going on in his cousin's life.

Skittery sighed, and sat down on his bunk, lighting a cigarette and taking a leisurely drag before he finally made eye contact with Spot. "Dere's jus' some stuff you's too young ta hear 'bout, okay? I ain't tryin' ta leave you's out, I's tryin' ta protect ya." He mumbled his words again, but the sincerity of the statement was obvious in his voice.

However, that didn't appease Spot. "I don't need protected! If I remember correctly, when you's was my age, you's was murderin' people!" Spot shouted, stomping his foot for emphasis.

Skittery flinched as if he'd been physically struck, and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. "T'anks, Spot. I's really needed ta be reminded a dat," He muttered.

"Well you's ain't mentioned it since it happened, so I's figured you's forgot," Spot retorted, refusing to feel at all guilty for the brief flash of anguish he glimpsed on Skittery's face.

"Cause it ain't soin' I'm proud of, Spot. It was a stupid decision, an' it didn't fix noin', an' I don't want to ever t'ink 'bout it again, all right? I's done apologized for dat, an' I ain't gonna spend da rest a me life sayin' sorry to you's or anyone else."

The two cousins glared at each other for a few tense moments, until Spot gave in, and joined Skittery on the bed.

"I wasn't askin' for an apology. I get why you's did it. But it was scary ta see you's like dat, and den you's never even talked 'bout it, an', I dunno," Spot trailed off, finishing with a half hearted shrug.

Skittery laid all the way back on the bed, silently studying the wood grain in the bunk above his. He had nothing else to say on the subject, but he didn't want to brush Spot off again. Things between them had been strained for longer than he cared to admit and he hated it. But for three years he'd been battling the demons within himself over his actions of that night, and every time he looked at Spot his mind flashed the face a seven year old boy huddled in a corner looking terrified.

Skittery was a master at pretending like everything just rolled off of him and didn't affect him, though, so no one had realized how much he hated himself for what he'd done. He didn't regret killing them, but he'd never forgiven himself for doing it in front of Spot. Since Spot had been born he'd always watched out for him and protected him, and he was sickened with himself for allowing Spot to see that. In his mind it was beginning to seem like he was the only one Spot needed protected from.

So for three years he'd been distancing himself from his cousin, watching him from afar, and keeping aloof when he was around. He didn't want to see his own mistakes and his own faults mirrored back in Spot. He figured if Spot could grow up and not carry the burden of their past, then that would make it all worth it. It never occurred to Skittery that at age thirteen, no one expected him to take on that responsibility. He expected it of himself, and it was slowly eating away at him. He tried to put on a perfect front when he was around Spot, but he couldn't cope with what he'd done.

Spot watched Skittery struggle for a response, and realized that it didn't really matter anyway. It was done and over with. He'd accepted it, and he assumed Skittery had too.

Chance chose that moment to walk in the room, and watched the two boys side by side in silence, wondering if he was interrupting anything. Either they didn't hear him come in, or they weren't acknowledging him, though, because neither boy turned or showed any signs of knowing that another presence was in the room. Chance cleared his throat, causing both boys to glance over at him.

"Spot, can I-" He began only to be cut off.

"I know, I know. Talk to Skittery. Alone," Spot huffed, getting off the bed and stomping out of the room.

Chance sat where Spot had been a minute before, and waited to see if Skittery had anything to say. After a few moments it became apparent that he was pretending Chance wasn't there, so Chance took the initiative. "I need to know now whether or not I can trust ya. So tell me, can I?"

Skittery rolled his head to the side, looking Chance square in the eye. Spite dripped from his voice like raindrops off the roof but it was offset by the look of desolation that lurked deep within his eyes. "I dunno."

Chance nodded slowly, ignoring the tone of his voice since he knew the boy was just trying to mask his despair with resentment. He couldn't fault Skittery for the honesty of his answer either, even if was not the answer he'd been hoping for.

"You's too damn young ta have such anger and contempt, such a hatred for the world around ya." Chance didn't realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until he heard the bitter laugh escape from Skittery's lips.

Chance turned toward Skittery, giving him a pleading look. "C'mon, kid. Talk ta me. Tell me how I can help."

He didn't get the angry response he'd expected, but in the end he wished he had. "You can't," Skittery said softly, the venom gone from his voice, instead replaced with hopelessness. Chance would have preferred the anger, at least when someone was angry that meant they still had hope. But Skittery sounded as if he was ready to give up. Whether he was ready to give up on him, on Spot, on himself, or on life in general, Chance didn't know, but he didn't like any of the options.

"Just don't do anythin' dumb again like you's did da other night all right?" Chance asked, standing up to leave. This time he got the exact response he expected, which was a resounding silence.

He was halfway out the door when he heard Skittery call him back. "Hey Chance?"

"Yeah?" He asked, stopping in his tracks and turning back around.

Skittery had sat up on the bed, and was looking at him, but he turned away and mumbled something so quietly that Chance wasn't sure he'd actually said it. "T'anks."

Chance nodded again, uselessly, since Skittery had pretty much dismissed him, and headed back downstairs where the rest of the newsies were.

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, Spot found himself spending more time with Nicole down by the river, and was surprised to realize that they'd become friends. Outside of his cousin he'd never really bothered to make friends before. They'd seemed useless to him, and he'd be the first to tell you that the other newsies weren't so much friends, as acquaintances, anyway. He'd learned at a young age that people were not to be trusted, and he went out of his way to not be friends with anyone.

But he'd kept going down to the tree, and she kept appearing, and she'd kind of grown on him. She was chattered incessantly, about absolutely nothing, but she was friendly enough, and Spot was careful to keep her far from his real life. So in his mind, she wasn't really a friend, more like a fly that no matter how often you swatted at t wouldn't go away, so eventually you just gave in and let the damned thing take up residence on your shoulder.

He was sitting by the river, attempting to drown out her voice by throwing pebbles into the water, when he heard someone else making their way down to the banks, and he muttered something under his breath. Nicole stopped mid sentence to look at him quizzically, but Spot didn't bother to elaborate. They'd been hanging out own by the river for almost a month now, and this was the first time Skittery had bothered to grace their old sot with his presence. He hadn't been by since the last time they'd been there when Skittery had been being evasive and weird. Secretly, Spot had been hoping to keep it that way. If no one else knew about Nicole, than he could almost pretend she was a figment of his imagination, and not a real person.

Skittery stopped when he saw that there was someone there other than Spot, and he raised his eyebrows at his younger cousin, and gave him a smirk. Spot shot him a look that said more than any words ever could have, and Skittery shrugged and nodded, as he joined them on the ground.

Nicole's gaze flicked rapidly back and forth between the two boys, and when it was obvious neither of them were going to introduce the other boy, she stuck out a hand. "Hi! I'm Nicole," She smiled.

Skittery continued to smirk, but shook her hand anyway. "Skittery," He replied, offering up no farther explanation.

"Are you a newsie with Spot?" Nicole asked.

Skittery nodded, amused. He wondered how many questions she ask if he continued to give her one word answers.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

Nicole seemed o be getting agitated, but she kept her smile pasted on her face, as she played with a wildflower, twirling it between her fingers, trying to think up a way to get one of the boys to explain the situation.

Spot finally gave in, feeling a twinge of guilt over how frustrated Nicole was getting. "Skittery's me older cousin," He told her.

"Oh," Her eyes lit up, and she started firing more questions at them, which Skittery and Spot both answered with short, clipped sentences. When the sunshine started to give way to the early dusk, Nicole finally stopped talking, and stood up, saying she had to be home, and that it was nice to meet Skittery.

When she was gone, Skittery turned to Spot, the smirk back on his face in full force. Before he could get out a smart ass comment, Spot started violently shaking his head. "She's jus' some girl who comes down 'ere and blabbers on an' on, so don't ya dare start, Skitts." He told him.

Skittery grinned, and told him, "Okay, fine. But you's pretty defensive, dere, Spot." He couldn't help but add.

Spot glared at him, and didn't bother to reply, as the two boys stood up to head back to the lodging house.

They walked part of the way in silence before Skittery's smart ass side won out, and he turned to his cousin asking innocently, "So when's da weddin'?"

Spot chased him the whole way back to the lodging house, threatening him with imminent danger the whole way.


	8. Skittery Returns

**AN – Sorry. Took forever, and kind of a filler. **

Skittery aimlessly wandered the quickly darkening streets of Brooklyn, hesitant to head back to the lodging house. He wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by a bunch of rowdy boys, and it was too early to go to sleep to escape them all. He paused near the bridge, considering his options, wistfully thinking how if it wasn't for Spot he would just leave. He would cross the bridge, jump a train, and never look back. The temptation was too great, so he swiftly turned, and headed back in the direction of the lodging house.

He yanked his cap off, shoving it in his pocket, and running a hand through his hair, causing his shaggy hair to stand up on its end. He almost ran directly into the two girls walking in the opposite direction of him. "Sorry," he muttered, glancing up, and recognizing the one girl as Spot's friend.

"Skittery, right?" Nicole flashed a brilliant grin at him, as the older girl next to her yanked on her arm in impatience.

Skittery gave a grunt in reply, as Nicole swatted the girl's hand off her."This is my friend Spot's cousin," She explained, gesturing to the girl, who was close in age to Skittery. The girl seemed unimpressed, but Nicole ignored it, and plowed on. "This is my sister, Elizabeth," She tried another introduction. The family resemblance between the two rendered the explanation quite unnecessary in Skittery's mind.

Skittery raised his eyebrows, gave a slight nod, and smirked, before side stepping the pair and continuing on his way.

Nicole huffed, and placed her hands on her hips, only to be tugged along again. "Come on Nicole, if we're late again, Dad'll be angry."

Skittery couldn't help but widen his smirk as he heard that comment from behind him. He'd bet his last penny those two didn't know anything about an angry dad.

"Skittery!" He heard from behind him, and turned to see one of the other newsies walking past the two sisters. He bit back a groan, when he saw who it was. Pretty Boy had been with the Brooklyn newsies for close to a year now, and Skittery had yet to trust him. It wasn't that he'd ever done anything out and out that caused Skittery to not trust him; there was just something about him that rubbed Skittery the wrong way. His answers were always a little too slick, much like his hair.

Pretty Boy was a couple years younger than Skittery, only a year older than Spot, but his build and features caused him to look closer to Chance's age. Skittery secretly enjoyed this, since that meant it also made it harder for him to sell papers.

"Heya Pretty Boy," he mumbled through his cigarette as the boy caught up to him.

"Hi, Skitts," He responded, falling into step with him. Skittery flinched inwardly at hearing Pretty Boy call him Skitts. He really didn't like anyone but Spot, Chance, or Lawrence to shorten his name, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

The walk back was rather quiet, and Skittery couldn't figure out why Pretty Boy had called out for him to wait for him, unless he was afraid of the dark. He let out a chuckle at that thought, as the two boys arrived outside the lodging house. Placing his hand on the dull brass knob, Skittery started to turn it, when he heard Pretty Boy say something,

"Huh?" He asked, letting his hand fall and turning back around, slightly annoyed that he'd been mum the whole walk back and waited until right before they were going in to speak.

"I asked if ya knew dat Spot's got Hound snoopin' 'round on youse," Pretty Boy repeated.

Skittery sighed, not knowing whether Pretty Boy was being honest, and if he was, whether he was trying to be helpful or just stir up issues. He highly doubted it was the former.

He wavered for a second, unsure what to say, and then just shrugged, and walked in the lodging house without responding.

His eyes searched the room, stopping on Spot whose head was lowered, and was whispering furiously with Hound. He cocked an eyebrow, and rubbed the back of his neck, realizing Pretty Boy may have been telling the truth. He still doubted his motives, however, so he pretended not to notice anything.

His eyes flitted to the group of older guys at the card table. Razz, Sweets, Spades, and Bull, were all sitting around, drinking, smoking, and laughing. He took notice of the fact that Chance was missing, and he picked his way through the common room, and towards the office, digging his change out of his pocket on the way.

Chance was leaning over the counter, resting on his elbows, and talking with Lawrence, playing with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Both young men stopped talking abruptly when Skittery entered though. Chance raised himself up, and tapped the counter, before bringing his hand up and giving a slight wave. He strode away from the desk, calling over his shoulder for Skittery to come find him when he had a minute and disappeared up the stairs.

Skittery took in the grim, unpleased look on Lawrence's face, and got a bad feeling he knew exactly what they'd been discussing, and exactly what Chance had to say to him. But avoiding the conversation wouldn't postpone the inevitable, so he quickly settled up with Lawrence, and trudged up the stairs, searching out Chance.

The door to Chance's room was wide open, so Skittery just walked in. Chance was lounging on the bed, still playing with the same unlit cigarette, and staring at the ceiling.

"So how long?" Skittery greeted him, figuring there was no need to tiptoe around the subject.

"What?" Chance asked, shaken from his thoughts, since he hadn't even realized Skittery had entered.

"How long? 'Til youse leave? Dat's what ya was discussin' wid Lawrence, right? Dat's why ya wanted ta talk ta me, right?" Skittery face was void of emotion. He refused to let this news bother him. People came, people went. You couldn't count on anyone, and he knew this.

Chance let out a sigh, and shifted on the bed, indicating for Skittery to join him. Sometimes that kid was too smart for his own good. Skittery looked at him warily, but joined him nonetheless, suddenly enthralled with the laces on his boots.

"Skitts," Chance began, only to see the boy's shoulders tense. Chance bit his lip, weighing the words in his mind, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. Honesty had always been his policy, though, so he decided to just give it to him straight, knowing that was the only way Skittery would accept it anyway. "Couple months, tops. Soon as we find new jobs," He watched for a reaction, but Skittery seemed to understand who the 'we' included.

Chance stopped fidgeting with the cigarette, and lit it before continuing. "You's gonna be da oldest one left now. Da one responsible for watchin' out for everyone."

Skittery nodded, eyes still trained on his boots. "Dat it? Anythin' else?" He asked in a short, clipped voice.

"Dat's it," Chance confirmed.

Skittery gave a curt nod, and rose off the bed, leaving without uttering anything else. Chance gave a sad smile, watching him leave, and leaned back against the wall.

He figured Skittery would give this news the same treatment he gave any news he wasn't pleased with; a quiet, albeit unhappy, acceptance. That was all he could ask for, though.

Spot left Hound on the couch, glancing over his shoulder at Pretty Boy, whose eyes had been fixated on the pair for awhile. He shrugged it off, though, and watched Skittery come down the stairs, and walk out the front door. A casual glance around the room confirmed that no one was paying attention, and he slipped out just as easily, and followed in his cousin's footsteps. He crept behind him, curious to see where he was going, and unwilling to reveal himself yet, out of the knowledge that Skittery's destination would most likely change if he knew Spot was tagging along.

He followed Skittery through the streets, and felt his curiosity pique as they crossed the bridge, and Skittery's steps slowed. He seemed unsure of exactly where he was headed, as he kept stopping and looking down streets, only to pass them by. A couple of times, Spot was forced to dart into a shadow when Skittery suddenly doubled back to take a turn he'd previously passed up.

He came to a sudden halt outside of abandoned building, peering into a broken window, before heaving himself through it. Spot stood back, perplexed, and waited a few minutes before slowly making his way up to where his cousin had disappeared. He glanced around, suddenly aware of how dark and abandoned the streets were, before shaking it off, and peering in through the shattered glass. He blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted, and he could just barely make out the shapes through the haze of smoke and candlelight. Spot could see Skittery sitting in a makeshift circle, but he couldn't figure out what exactly was going on in there, or how Skittery even knew these people.

Hearing footsteps, he backed away from the window, and blended back into the night, as another figure made their way up and through the window. He was beginning to get frustrated, he hated not knowing what was going on, and he was tired, but he knew he'd never find his way back to Brooklyn on his own, so he sat down and leaned against the brick wall, waiting for Skittery to show himself.

He nodded off to sleep, only to be woken back up a couple hours later by someone kicking at his leg and hissing at him. "What da hell are ya doin' out 'ere?" Skittery stood in front of him, glaring down at Spot, barely able to contain the anger in his voice.

Spot rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stood up, responding indignantly, "I saw youse leave, an' I wanted ta know where youse was goin' and what youse was doin'!"

"Well it ain't none a ya damn business. Now c'mon, we gotta get back."

The walk back was silent and the tension hung thick in the air between the boys. Skittery was mad at Spot for following him, and Spot was mad at Skittery for refusing to tell him what he was doing in the basement of an abandoned building of Manhattan at night.

When they got back to the lodging house, Skittery eased the door opened, and shot Spot one last look, reminding him to be quiet. The two crept up the stairs, and snuck in their beds undetected, but neither of them went to sleep. Spot laid awake trying to figure out when Skittery had started keeping secrets from him. Skittery laid awake, hoping Spot was too young to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing.


End file.
